


you, soft and only

by Ejunkiet, the golden dears (Ejunkiet)



Series: rings and other gifts [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), and softness. all the softness., featuring: discussions on scars; elaborate ball gowns; heavy make-out sessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25805347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/the%20golden%20dears
Summary: After three long months of waiting, it's the night of the inaugural ball for the Festival of Garreg Mach and Claude is late.--He groans, and she can feel the rumble of it deep within his chest, before he's pulling her up, capturing her mouth with his; hot and desperate and longing as he sets about taking her apart.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: rings and other gifts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604776
Comments: 10
Kudos: 218
Collections: The Golden Gifts - Claudeleth Fic/Art Exchange





	you, soft and only

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chellmibell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellmibell/gifts).



> This was originally written for the Claudeleth exchange (for pelusoart/chellmibell) for the prompt kintsugi (the art of repairing broken pottery with gold) and masquerade (taken to mean fancy, elegant ball).
> 
> Many, many apologies for the lateness of this gift! <3

She knows every scar on his body. She learns them, her fingertips tracing the lines, mapping them, and she wonders, during the nights they spend together, just what secrets he’s still keeping close to his chest.

These marks tell the story of his past, but he doesn’t speak of them. In fact, he doesn’t speak much of his childhood in Almyra at all.

She understands. There are some things that can’t be shared, even now, after the years they’ve spent together. It’s not for lack of trust, or love - their connection has held steady through the many hardships that have faced them over the years, and has brought a new era of peace to their respective countries. She still has some of her own secrets, although far less than him. She has her own scars.

She understands, but that doesn’t stop her from wondering.

\--

Claude is late.

 _(By the third bell,_ his letter had read. She unfurls the roll from the sleeve of her dress tracing her fingers over his light, elegant script - _in the courtyard._ _I can't wait to hold you in my arms again, dear heart.)_

The third bell has come and gone, and many more since. She glances at the sun, at the way it sits above the horizon, heavy and swollen with the heat of the day, and feels the paper crumple in her grip as she closes her eyes and lets out a long breath.

It’s been three months since they’d last met in person, and even that had been brief - a quick meeting in a camp on the border of Faerghus to talk about strategy before she’d returned to war, routing out the last of those who slither in the dark, and he’d returned to his political games back in Almyra. 

She finds the separation - difficult. He's had years of practice, of planning and patience, following her disappearance during the fall of Garreg Mach; years to grow and adapt to the absence, the solitude. Years that she regrets he’d had to face alone.

(But she would never even consider asking him to change his plans for her. It’s difficult, yes, but she can adapt to it, for him.)

His arrival was scheduled to coincide with the festival of Garreg Mach, an event she has been assigned to lead in her role as head of the church. He was scheduled to arrive a day before the celebrations began - and yet it's been a day and a half since the festival commenced. Tonight is the inaugural ball with the main ceremony scheduled for tomorrow night.

There isn't much time left before she has to leave for her scheduled appearance, something she'd agreed with reluctance under Lorenz's assurances that it would be brief.

The fabric that cinches her waist is too tight, the adornments in her hair heavy and weighty with gold and pearl, and she spares a thought to Rhea and the years she had spent adorned with them, a monument to the strength and sanctity of the church.

There's a gentle knock at the door, pulling her away from her thoughts and she calls out distractedly, "it's open."

The look on Claude’s face when he greets her from the doorway, hand slipping from its purchase on the frame, is almost enough to make her think that the effort had been worth it. 

His eyes gleam as he takes her in, head to foot, and by the time he’s done, her heart is skittering in her chest like a caged bird, and she finds herself breathless.

"So I take it you like it."

His lips tick up into a small, secretive smile that sends a rush of heat flooding through her, and gods, she had missed him. "You could say that."

He steps into the room, closing the door gently behind him - and she smiles at the way he flips the lock - before coming up behind her where she stands in front of the mirror. His eyes don’t leave hers, and she can’t help the blush that heats her cheeks.

He wraps his arms back around her, and she leans back into him, enjoying the warmth of him, the thought that he is here, and he is _hers_ and hers alone.

“You look beautiful.”

She glances at him over her shoulder, her expression incredulous. “I look ridiculous." 

His hands settle at her waist, heavy and present through the fabric as they follow the lines of silk. He's careful to avoid the elaborate embellishments of her headdress as he ducks down to press his lips to her neck.

"We’ll have to agree to disagree." The words are murmured against her skin, the soft rush of his breath making her shiver as she places a hand on top of his, intertwining their fingers together as she brings him in closer.

She lets out a soft sigh, eyes flickering shut as she takes a moment to enjoy the feel of him against her, warm and solid and _here_ , before she reaches up to gently break his embrace, stepping back until she can turn to face him fully.

She takes a moment to take in his appearance and the time he’s clearly taken with it, the outfit carefully chosen, his dark hair beautifully and meticulously combed.

He makes an elegant picture, dressed in fine satin, long flowing fabric and rich colours native to his home country. The bright colours bring out the warm tones of his skin, the emerald of his eyes; it suits him, bringing out the natural light that she loves about him.

Remembering herself, she glances back up to find him watching her, warm affection creasing the corners of his eyes. "So, I take it this is why you're late?"

He lets out a loud laugh, his face alighting with it, and she basks in the warmth of him. "You know me, I can't miss a party."

She smiles as he reaches for her, bringing her back into his embrace as his arms curl once more around her waist. He buries his face against her neck, breathing her in, and she settles into him and it's as if he'd never left.

"I’ve missed you."

Her fingers are soft as she traces the line of his shoulders, the outline of his collarbone, refamiliarising herself with the shape of him. There's a new mark on him, a line that follows the length of his collarbone, peeking out of the collar of his shirt. It's not the first, and it won't be the last, and she takes a moment to memorise it, tracing the line of it with her fingers before she presses a soft kiss to the skin, enjoying the way he shudders at her touch, pulling her in closer.

“And I you.”

He groans, and she can feel the rumble of it deep within his chest, before he's pulling her up, capturing her mouth with his; hot and desperate and _longing_ as he sets about taking her apart.

"We will be late," she manages to get out, her words breathless even as her fingers twine in his hair, pulling him closer and he huffs out a laugh against her lips.

"You're the head of the church," he replies, just as breathless, before he presses even closer, chasing her mouth as his fingers find the laces of her bodice.

His other hand slides into her hair, struggling briefly with her hair piece - an elaborate thing made of gold and inlaid with precious gems - before he gives up and removes a pin, sending cascades of hair down her back. 

She means to admonish him for that - it'd taken her and her house maids hours to create that style - but then his mouth finds her throat and the sound morphs into a sigh, his lips and tongue burning a hot trail along her throat to her jaw as his hands sneak beneath the hem of her dress, hiking it higher until his warm hands find the soft skin of her thighs. 

He picks her up then, taking a few steps forward before he drops her on top of her desk, sheets of paperwork and pens scattering to the floor in his haste. She laughs, hooking her calves around his waist as she lets her arms fall around his shoulders, and if they want to get anything done today, they need to stop here, _now_ , before this gets too far.

She sounds almost embarrassingly out of breath when she reminds him, “The ball, Lorenz -”

“Lorenz will think of something.”

He sounds as breathless as she does, his eyes dark, flecks of green almost swallowed by the depths of his pupils, and she - she _wants_ as well.

She can always make her apologies to Lorenz in the morning.

Hands roaming, pulling at the fabric, she abandons herself to the moment, to his soft caresses and the happy knowledge that he is _here_ , with her, after so long. Not completely unmarked, but whole.

They lose time, for a while.

\--

Later, they’re wrapped around each other, duties abandoned in favour of more pleasurable activities as her fingers trace his skin, enjoying the softness and warmth of him. 

“Where did you get this?” 

The question comes, unbidden, as her fingers trace a faded scar that parallels the length of his spine, and he huffs out a laugh. His breath is hot on her skin as he brushes his lips against her temple, pressing a kiss there, and it’s an obvious distraction, but she doesn’t press him for an answer, just waits.

“It was an accident,” he replies eventually, lips soft against her cheek. He trails soft kisses across her cheekbones, a meandering path that takes her breath away, chasing the heat that lingers on her skin. Her fingers trace another line, and she can feel the curve of his smile before he continues, “One of many. You could say I was a clumsy child.”

He settles at the base of her throat, and she shudders at the press of his teeth, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. Her hands drift up until she can bury them into the thick locks of his hair, and he lets out a low groan, pressing in closer, and it’d be easy, so easy to let this go.

She was never one for the easy road, though. She tugs at his hair, exerting a gentle pressure until he pulls back and looks at her, his eyes dark and clear in the silvery moonlight that filters through the open windows.

“Clumsy? Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

He reaches out to her, fingers running gently through her hair before settling at the curve of her cheek, before he leans in to press a soft kiss against her lips. “You’d be surprised.”

“You don’t talk much about your past.”

He huffs out a soft laugh. “There’s not much to tell. Nothing important, at least.”

His tone is light, casual, and she doesn’t need the years of experience she’s had learning to read him to catch the feigned lightness, even if she can’t trace the cause.

Her fingers map the skin of his chest, and she presses a kiss to a puckered scar, one that she recognises from five years ago, from deep within the caverns that run beneath Garreg Mach. She hadn’t been close enough, or fast enough, to prevent it, not with her powers already overstretched by the golems, and it’s a reminder of the limitations of her abilities, of the consequences of her mistakes.

Her voice is quiet when she says, ”I’d like to learn more about you.”

He pauses then, his fingers tangled in her hair, and pulls back until she meets his gaze.

“Everything I am is yours.” He brings her in for another soft kiss, and they linger there in that moment for a while, before he leans back with a sigh. 

There’s a pause as he considers his words, before he continues, slowly at first, his gaze distant with memory as his hands move back down to her waist, settling there.

“It wasn’t an easy childhood. I wasn’t - accepted easily. Not by my family - my siblings, in particular.”

“They did this to you?” Her tone is sharper than she intended, and he huffs out a short laugh, pressing a soft kiss to the bridge of her nose.

“Not personally. But through their actions, yes.”

Her touch is light as her fingers skim across his chest, his skin warm and soft beneath her touch. He shivers as she traces another mark, this one almost too faint to be seen, hidden by the shadow of his ribcage.

“An armed scuffle in the school yard.”

Her fingers drift to his side, where a more obvious mark lies, a long stripe that ripples and curls with the heat that must have been used to generate it - a flame spell, by the looks of it, and maliciously done.

“And this?”

“My older sister. That was an accident, at least, for the most part.”

She looks at him then, and the conflict in his expression makes her chest tighten, has her reaching for his face again, running her thumbs along his cheekbones as she curls her fingers into his hair.

“You must hate them. Your family,” she elaborates at his questioning look, and he lets out a short laugh as he shakes his head, a soft smile on his lips as he runs his hands along her side, palms warm against her bare skin.

“I don’t.” He laughs again at the look she gives him, pressing another soft kiss to her cheek, his eyes dark and gleaming in the half-light of their shared rooms. “I’m being honest. They didn’t know any better, and if I was in the same situation, who’s to say I wouldn’t act the same way?”

It not hard to see that she’s unconvinced by his words and he dips down to give her another kiss, and then another, placing a trail of soft kisses across her features before finding her mouth again.

“My past - all of what happened, made me into who I am today. These scars are my reminders of that.”

His arm curls around her, pulling her close once more, and this time she lets him, enjoying the way he feels against her, the solidness of him here, above her, beneath her, and every which way in between.

They fall asleep some time later, long after the moon has set and the sky over the horizon has started to brighten with pink hues of dawn, undisturbed by the party goers in the courtyards below.

\--

They wake to a gentle knock outside the room, polite and perfunctory against the doorframe, before a letter is pushed underneath the door itself. Even from a distance, she can recognise Lorenz’ elegant script and she lets out a low groan, burying her face in the blankets as if she could hide from the retribution that's awaiting her.

Obligingly, Claude climbs out of the bed to retrieve the letter.

“So what does it say?”

“Nothing. He’s just signed it,” he pauses, before brandishing the letter with a flourish, “ _Lorenz Hellman Gloucester.”_

That doesn’t bode well. She groans, falling back into the pillows, letting their feathered mass hide her face from view. "He's going to kill us."

She can hear Claude’s chuckle, warm in the quiet that accompanies the early hours of the morning as he makes his way back to where she’s curled up in the sheets.

“He can try. I don’t think much of his chances.” The bed tilts under his weight as he sits down next to her, and she peeks up from the pillows to see his crooked grin, charmingly disarming even with his crumpled, unlaced shirt and obvious bedhead. 

She wants to kiss him and so she does, pulling him back down to her as he hums in surprise, quickly melting against her as his hands curl into the blankets.

She smiles against his lips as they part briefly for breath, taking in the way his eyes have darkened, the slow slant of his smile. She’s not ready to let go of him just yet.

“We can always find out later.”

Much later.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos greatly appreciated! Find me on tumblr (same username, ejunkiet)!


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